


Our Little Boy

by EventHorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Parenthood, Parentlock, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:03:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade and their son as they move through the years... parenting is nothing if not very hard work...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Little Boy

      “He’s beautiful, Mycroft.”

Mycroft Holmes leaned back into his Detective Inspector’s arms and gazed down at his, _their_ , son.  It may have been his genetic material that was used for the surrogacy, but this was as much Gregory’s child as it was his.

      “That he is.  The most beautiful child in human history, if I may be so presumptuous.”

      “And that’s because he looks just like his daddy.”

And he did.  The baby in his arms was unquestionably a Holmes child.  Specifically, _this_ Holmes’s child.  He could not ever be mistaken for anyone else, too close was the resemblance to his father, even at this very tender age.

      “You decided on the name?”

      “I am still of a mind to name him Philip, after my grandfather, as we discussed, but if you have an objection…”

      “Not at all.  My grandfather’s name was Mark and Mark Holmes is something out of a porno.”

      “Gregory, do behave in front of your child.  And it would be Lestrade-Holmes in any case.”

      “Still like Philip.  That way, even if he has to drop the first part when he takes over your empire, it’ll still sound proper.”

Not that Mycroft would permit that for a second.  If he had to insert in his will that his son retained his husband’s surname or else lose said empire, he would not hesitate.  He had spent too many nights worrying about how Gregory truly felt about the impending addition to the family to allow any of those worries to actually manifest.

      “I have grave doubts that will ever come to pass.  Now, shall we introduce young Philip to the subjects of his empire?  I am quite certain John is weary of crafting new reasons to convince Sherlock to sit and wait for our news.”

      “Nah, Sherlock’s more excited that he’s letting on.  John showed me the secret toy stash he’s been putting together.  I think he’s decided he’s found a new apprentice – already got him a little microscope and the kid can’t even hold his head up yet.”

      “You _will_ try to ensure that he does not allow young Philip to participate in any of his more gruesome experiments, correct?”

      “I’ll do my best, but I’ll have a chat with John, just in case.”

      “Good.  You do realize, my dear, that we have yet to choose a godfather for our son.  If John is already to act as a shield between Philip and Sherlock’s particular brand of, shall we say, enthusiasm…”

      “Really?  Not one of your relatives or government friends?”

      “I do take the role very seriously and cannot think of anyone who more fully fills the resume of godfather than John.  If some tragedy should befall us, can you think of anyone more suited to uptake the role of our son’s guardian?”

      “No, actually.  No, I can’t.  And he’d still get to grow up in a Holmes household.  Great idea… when you do you want to talk to John and Sherlock about it?”

      “Is there a better time than now?”

Lestrade gave his husband a kiss on his cheek, then placed a softer one of his son’s brand new skin.

      “Nope.  Not at all.”

__________

2 years old…

      “What is that?”

      “I require more specificity if you desire an informative answer.”

      “What is Phil wearing?”

      “Ah, I had my tailor prepare for him a few new outfits.”

      “It’s a suit.”

      “That _would_ be the proper term.”

      “You put our son in a suit?”

      “And isn’t he a handsome boy for it?”

      “Our 2-year old son is in a waistcoat.”

      “And he wears it splendidly.  Notice that there is not even a small imperfection and he has just consumed a very colorful and drippy lunch.”

Lestrade had to admit… little Phil _was_ the neatest eater of any tot he’d ever seen.  Just as neat and graceful at the table as his father.

      “How’s he going to roll around at the park today all buttoned up in his bespoke baby clothes?”

      “Roll around?  I do not believe I have ever observed our son behaving like a canine attempting to mask its scent by rolling in a dead squirrel.”

      “You know what I mean… crawl around, play in the grass and dirt, maybe mix it up a little with another baby?”

      “Are you feeling well, Gregory?  I have no idea whose child you are describing, but it is surely not ours.”

No, Lestrade had to admit that Mycroft had a point.  Phil loved to sit in their laps, view the world from his pram, quietly play with his toys on Mycroft’s very expensive Oriental rugs… in fact, the few times he had tried to sneak his son outside and get him a little dirty, the crying and screaming had alerted Mycroft who sprinted outside, raging with protective fire, to disable whoever had the audacity to upset his precious child.  Definitely not the type of kid _he_ had been… half of the pictures of him at this age had his face mostly obscured by dirt, food, paint or whatever else he’d gotten into that day.

      “Guess I was just thinking it might do him some good to do things a little more like other kids.”

Mycroft walked over and put his arm around his husband, squeezing lightly to acknowledge that he understood sentiment.

      “But he is not like these _other kids_.  He is our child and unique because of it.”

But, Lestrade was starting to wonder if _our_ was really going to be the right word when all was said and done.

      “Yeah, you’re right.  So, we stroll him around his favorite spots and maybe put a blanket down and let him play with those stuffed smiling bacteria toys or whatever they were that Sherlock gave him?”

      “He will have a wonderful time; they have become quite a favorite during his play.  Let me gather his things and we can begin.”

      “Yeah, you do that.  I’ll… I’ll wait right here.”

__________

7 years old…

      “Phil!  Your father and I have been waiting…”

A small, scowling, ginger boy appeared in the kitchen door and fixed his formidable gaze on Lestrade.

      “I have told you that I do not appreciate it when you shorten my name.”

One more thing Lestrade had added to the list of things his son didn’t like about him.

      “Philip, you will use a more respectful tone when addressing your father.”

      “ _He_ is not my father, _you_ are.”

      “Very well, you will use a more respectful tone when addressing your dad.”

      “Ugh… how utterly common.  I refuse to let the word pass my lips.”

      “Philip John Lestrade-Holmes!  If you are going to be disagreeable, you shall do it alone so that Gregory and I do not have our dinner spoiled by your petulance.”

      “You cannot deny, Father, that _Dad_ is not what members of our social class term their sires.  Not that he is related to me in that manner, of course.”

Lestrade set his fork down and took a deep breath.  Philip’s so-called terrible two’s had lasted a lot longer than other kids and seemed to be mostly focused on him.  Every day, his son looked more and more like Mycroft, acted more like him, spoke more like him, but had a streak of Sherlock’s surliness underneath it all.  Actually, maybe Mycroft had been like that when he was a kid… he sure did have a pointed comment or two to make now and then when they were out in public and surrounded by people other than the well-to-do’s.

Mycroft looked over at the love of his life and felt his heart clench.  His Gregory was the kindest, most decent and caring man, and he loved their son with his whole being.  However, that son was not always the easiest child in the world to manage.   Similar, as he had been told, to his own behavior when he was moving through the early years of his life.

      “You were given options for address…”

      “I do not approve of any of them.”

Philip took his seat at the table and began to attack his dinner.   The faster he could consume the boring food on his plate, the quicker he would get whatever came after and he was sixty-seven percent certain that Father returned home with a bag from his favorite ice-cream shop.

      “Look, Phil…”

      “Philip!”

      “Sorry… but, what’s wrong with Dad?  Or Papa?  Lots of kids say those.”

      “And I am not any of them.  _Father_ is a properly descriptive term.  How exactly do your options summarize your relationship to me?”

      “Well, they let people know I’m something more than your child minder.”

      “That is actually a debatable point.”

Lestrade knew if he didn’t get up and leave he’d say something he’d regret or just rile up his son, which never led to anything good.  Mycroft knew how to handle the boy, let him do something.

      “Fine, call me Greg.  That descriptive enough for you?”

A quick flick of his napkin onto the table and Lestrade was moving out of the dining room.

      “It will be Gregory!  I abhor diminutives!”

Mycroft stared at his son who was, only now, beginning to show cracks in his bravado as he pushed his food around his plate in random patterns.

      “Philip, you will apologize to your father – and do _not_ begin with me a second argument on that point.  It is not one you will win without it being a pyrrhic victory.”

      “Fine.  I don’t understand why he simply cannot comprehend the situation and alter his behaviors to better match those of our family and associates.”

Because he would not then be the man Mycroft loved above all others.

      “Gregory is his own person and that person is one who is tremendously worthwhile and valuable.  Note that of all the persons with whom I associate to which you might assign a higher status, it is _he_ who I chose to wed.  He loves you, Philip, but he cannot and should not be asked to alter his fundamental nature to please your whims.  If you simply set aside your unreasonable expectations, you would better be able to experience the love he has for you and more fully enjoy your time together.”

      “I… I have nothing in common with him.”

There was truly no arguing with his son on this point, because it was not entirely an untruth.  Philip was a copy of Mycroft in more ways than the physical.

      “I will credit you the point, however, one could argue that _I_ have nothing in common with Gregory.  A closer examination, though, would produce some areas of overlap and we have used those to build our relationship.  I have learned that I enjoy and appreciate many things that I was introduced to because of association with your father and he can say the same.  Our relationship grew and strengthened to what we have now because we made the effort to build and tighten the bindings between us and always, every day take steps to maintain them.  If _you_ took steps, I am certain you would find more common ground with Gregory than you believe possible and I know that he would greatly appreciate your efforts.  As would I.”

      “I honestly have no confidence that would produce successful results.”

Now it was Mycroft’s turn to take a deep breath, but he gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile to his son.

      “However, you will not know for certain until you try.  That is all I ask, Philip.  Just try.”

The small boy simply nodded and continued to play with his dinner.  Mycroft watched him closely and was slightly disappointed that his child was not putting more mental energy into reflecting upon their conversation.  Perhaps the boy needed more time.  Or time alone.  He had often closeted himself away to block out other influences when he had a significant matter on which to think.  Mycroft just prayed that his Philip thought this _was_ a significant matter…

__________

10 years old

      “You are not helping.”

      “Yeah, ok, but Mycroft’s not here and I’m all you’ve got.”

      “Take me to Uncle Sherlock.  He can assist me with my lessons.”

      “Sherlock’s on a case right now and before you ask, I know that because I gave it to him.  And I’m not totally crap with schoolwork you know.  Let me take a look at that again.”

Lestrade took the book from his son’s hands and really wished he’d paid more attention in science class.  Philip was in the advanced program at his school and he wasn’t sure they even _did_ stuff like this when he was in school.

      “It is two-dimensional motion.  I doubt you have the necessary trigonometry to properly resolve the vectors to even begin to affect a solution.”

Yeah… that was probably true.

      “Well then, you teach it to me.”

      “What?”

      “They say you learn things best by teaching them to someone else, so you teach me this trigonometry and I’ll see if I can put things together with the cannonballs and footballs and other stuff they’re tossing around in your problems.”

      “That will take a great deal of time and I must finish this before my programme begins.”

      “Then you’d better be efficient.  Come on… tell me about these vectors and stuff.”

Lestrade had to grin at his son’s monumental snort.  Kid was the spitting image of Mycroft, but had never lost that little bit of Sherlock that crept into his DNA somehow…

__________

13 years old

      “Why not?”

      “Gregory, you cannot be seriously making that proposition.”

      “I would refuse in any case, Father, so the point is moot!”

Lestrade stared at the two suited figures in front of him, noting not for the first time that his son was growing quickly.  A few more years and he’d at least be as tall as Mycroft.  And would have as little interest in sports, too.  All he’d asked was for a bit of family time outside today rather than huddle inside as they usually did and you’d swear he’d asked them to drink poison.  So, of course, when he’d broached his little idea, he’d gotten kicked to the pavement.

      “It’s good for lads to get out there and kick a ball around!  I’m not saying you’ve got to join a team or anything, but your school does offer sports and…”

      “I am not going to allow something as purposeless as sports to interrupt my day.”

      “You can play after school.  I talked to the headmaster and they…”

      “Gregory, have you any idea of the numbers of children that are injured each year due to participation in sports?  Seriously injured?”

      “Maybe if they’re on a real team or something, but not if they’re just having a little fun.  Philip needs to get some exercise, Mycroft.  Put a little fresh air in his lungs and just get out and have some fun!  Meet some new kids.  Try something different than sitting around with his books.”

      “I am not comfortable taking chances with his safety.”

      “Look… when I talked to the headmaster, I said I’d be happy to volunteer as another hand out there supervising the kids.  I have a little more freedom now setting my hours and it wouldn’t be hard to carve out an hour two a few times a week to coach the lads in a little friendly football.”

      “Then I hope you enjoy your time, Gregory, because I will not be participating.  This offers no benefit to either my academic or career progress, therefore, any time I spent engaging in these pursuits would be wasted and my time is sufficiently limited and valuable to waste on pointless activities.  That is my final word on the subject.”

Lestrade bit the inside of his cheek as his son stormed out of the room and waited until he was gone to throw the football he’d been holding against the side of the house.

      “Gregory… do not trouble yourself so…”

      “One thing, Mycroft.  I thought that maybe this could be one thing… get out, have a little fun… have some time together doing something that I really think would be good for him.  Maybe show him I’m not fucking useless at everything, like he thinks I am since policemen are lowly servants of… you!... and I can’t do his calculus homework… just one thing, Mycroft for him and me to maybe try and connect and… why am I even surprised.  Why am I surprised in the least?  He’s said it often enough, every goddam day… I’m not his father.  He’s got none of me in him, not one little bit.  And he would probably prefer to cut off his arm than even try to see if there’s anything like me inside of him somewhere.  Look, I’m gonna take a walk.  I’ll be back later and… yeah, I’ll pick up some take-away while I’m out.  Don’t worry, it won’t be my favorite, so Philip will be sure to eat it.”

Before a very stunned Mycroft could say anything, Lestrade was back in the house, grabbing his jacket and slamming the front door.  The tiny flicker of a curtain caught Mycroft’s attention and he hoped that his son hadn’t… no, he hoped his son _had_ heard their conversation.  And the sound of his heart breaking.  Gregory tried so hard… did everything he could.  Was the most conscientious, most _devoted_ father a boy could want and his reward had never been anything but pain.  He just wished his husband had divulged his full reasons for suggesting their son play sports so that he could have offered more support for the idea.  It had been sufficiently difficult to even get Philip outside to kick twice at the ball Gregory had brought home and maybe… maybe if he had shown willing, his son might have been in some way tempted to participate.  But, his son was like him, because _he_ was like his son… and, apparently, each of them was poorly suited to bring happiness to the other man who shared their lives.

__________

16 years old…

      “It’s a party!  Of course you should go!”

      “I am not interested in the drunken antics of the buffoons that will surely be in attendance.”

Actually, Lestrade was hoping his son _would_ get into a few drunken antics, but that was as dumb a thought as any he’d had in the boy's life.

      “Ok, then don’t hang about with the idiots.  I’m sure there will be other serious people like you and you can sit around and talk.  Who knows you might meet someone _interesting_.”

      “Are you implying I might find someone in whom I might develop a romantic interest?”

      “Absolutely!  Time you got out there and started sowing your wild oats.  I mean, my oats were being sowed when I was a lot younger than you are… ok, maybe you didn’t need to know that… but, it’s good to get out and start seeing what’s what about that part of life.”

      “I have already discussed the matter with father, if you must know.  He agrees that sexuality is a natural part of maturation, however, it should not distract one from one’s goals.”

Perfect.  Mycroft had given their son _the talk_ and not bothered to inform him.  Oh yeah, stupid him for forgetting he wasn’t a part of the party when it came to some things.  Like everything.

      “Well, your father’s not wrong, but a night out now and again with someone nice isn’t going to wreck your plans for life.  Have a few dates, get up to no good in the back seat… it’s what you _should_ be doing!”

      “No, it is what people like _you_ should be doing.  I have no intention of making myself available to anyone for the simple purpose of _getting up to no good_.  Really, Gregory… it is as if you have not lived under this roof for the past 16 years.”

Philip laid down his book and stalked out of the room to avoid any more of the conversation.  Lestrade watched his son leave and… yes… he was just about the same height as Mycroft now.  And the absolute, perfect image of his husband.  If it wasn’t for the extra lines on Mycroft’s face from age and years of intense stress, you’d have a hard time telling the two apart.  His husband had been very successful picking the surrogate, but then… Mycroft was successful in everything.  Just as their son would be and, for that at least, Lestrade was very thankful.

      “Ah, Gregory, there you are…”

      “Any reason you didn’t bother to tell me you gave Philip the sex talk?”

Mycroft halted midstride and rewound his memories to the date in question.

      “Oh… in truth, no.  There is no reason other than I considered the matter a closed issue.  Philip had questions and I provided the answers.  There was no great importance to the conversation, at least no more so than if we were discussing an item of history or politics.”

If Lestrade wasn’t completely sure Mycroft Holmes was a wildly passionate man when his blood boiled, he’d just find a brick and beat himself senseless right then and there.

      “It _is_ a big deal, Mycroft.  Yeah, the biology part is pretty dry, but then there’s the rest of it.  The emotional part of it… did you get into that at all?”

      “No more than to remind Philip that emotional connections are still biologically-based and that he should carefully analyze any feelings for their true basis before he made any decisions with his or anyone else’s body.”

      “Great.  So love and attraction are just a chemical wash and don’t mean anything.  Wonderful… glad to know I’ve devoted nearly twenty years to a man who’s just a chemical cocktail in my head.”

Mycroft despised the times when he utterly failed to discern the true meaning of his husband’s questions and properly consider his answers.  He did this every day with ease for matters of work, but failed too frequently to properly anticipate within the walls of his home.

      “That was not my meaning.  I simply desired to caution Philip against making decisions that were hasty.  Even you must admit that the hormonal upheavals at his age do not promote clear thinking and one must be vigilant for one’s actions.”

      “I think it’d do him some good to make a couple of poor decisions, actually.  Come home completely pissed, shirt on inside out… cut loose once in awhile and let those hormones take over.  He’s not a dumb kid, so I don’t worry he’ll do something truly stupid, but… I don’t want him to miss out, you know?  Wouldn’t even go to that party he got invited to.  I don’t want him to lose out on what the other kids are getting to enjoy.”

Mycroft took a seat on the sofa next to his lover and embraced him tightly.

      “But would he enjoy it, my dear?  I would not have at his age.  I _did_ not at his age.  The few gatherings I felt compelled to attend were uncomfortable, boring… he would feel the same way.  One cannot miss out on what would fail to enjoy in the first place, would you not agree?”

Lestrade’s body relaxed into Mycroft’s arms and he let the tension of the moment bleed away.

      “No, you’re right.  If he wouldn’t have fun, then it’d be stupid for him to go.  Guess I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

      “You were thinking that you want what is best for your son and that is precisely what I expect from you.  It is simply that your son…”

      “Isn’t like me.  That’s really all it comes down to.  At least he’s got you to count on, right?”

      “He has both of us to, as you say, count on.  He is young, Gregory, and not as broad in his perspective as he might believe.   One day he will come to acknowledge what you have done for him all these years and he will find all the ways in which your efforts have helped him grow into the man he has become.”

      “One day… think I’ll still be alive?”

      “I will ensure it.  I believe the research in cryogenics is making great strides…”

Mycroft was not considered a jocular man, but there was one person he was always able to make laugh.  And he was the only person for whom it actually mattered…

__________

18 years old…

      “Why not stay here?”

      “Father, I will not continue this conversation.  Please do what you can to explain the matter to your spouse.”

Lestrade wondered if he’d seen more of his son’s face in his lifetime or his back.  Damn kid just loved making a dramatic exit…

      “Mycroft…”

      “Gregory… we want what is best for Philip and I can assure you this is the proper choice for his further education.”

      “But it’s so far away!”

      “Little in this country can be termed ‘far away’ by today’s transportation standards.”

      “You know that’ll be enough, though.  He’s not going to come home.  It’ll be a waste of his time.  He’ll have more important things to do.  It’ll distract him from his studies.  You know as well as I do that if he’s not here, he’ll _never_ be here!”

Mycroft wished he had some reassurance to offer, but he didn’t.  Everything his husband said was true.  Once they deposited Philip on the grounds of his college, they would likely not see him again for a very extended period of time and it pained Mycroft more than he could express.  However, Philip’s education and opportunities could not be influenced by what his fathers’ hearts wanted.  He would learn and grow and create connections that would set the stage for his adult life and they must do nothing to interfere with that, no matter how greatly it hurt.

      “I am afraid you are correct.  However, I do believe that he will maintain contact through other means and, though he has forbidden me to establish the level of surveillance I would prefer, there will be eyes monitoring, at the very least, his safety.  Our boy is a man now, Gregory… we cannot hold him back as his grows into that role.”

His Gregory rarely cried.  It simply was not who he was, as, also, it was not part of Mycroft’s personality.  However, the wet and glossy shine in his husband’s eyes, Mycroft knew, was being well matched by his own.

      “Fine.  Off he goes and maybe, one day, he’ll remember he’s got family and stop in for a quick hello.”

      “I think you are being unduly pessimistic.  I returned home… perhaps not often, but I did.  Philip will, as well.  You must simply be patient.”

      “I don’t know if I can.”

      “You have been patient with him since he was born, my dear.  I think you can continue for a little while longer.”

__________

19 years, 10 months old…

      “He’s really coming this time?”

Mycroft did not want to acknowledge the sour flavor of dashed hopes in his husband’s voice, if only so he could be strong for the man he loved so dearly.

      “He has stated that he will share Christmas with us, Gregory, and I am confident he will not disappoint.”

Again.  Philip had not returned home once since he had begun his studies and it was tearing his dear Gregory apart.  Promises made, promises broken… and absolute anger when it was suggested that they come and visit him instead.  It was everything his love had feared and Mycroft was finally at the point that if their son again failed to keep his word to return home, he would not make it an option.  There were fine colleges in London where Philip could continue his studies…

      “What time’s his train?”

      “Ah… it should arrive shortly after we do.  The car is waiting, my dear… are you ready?”

That question was heavy with meaning and Mycroft hoped his husband’s nod was for each possible one.  They rode in silence to the station and waited until the correct train arrived, the passengers disembarked and… they were left standing on the platform alone.

      “Mycroft…”

Two long arms wrapped around Lestrade and Mycroft held his husband tight to his body.  This was the final straw.  Philip would be returned home tomorrow and that was the end of the matter.

      “You two should get a room.”

Mycroft and Lestrade broke apart and whirled around to find the source of the very familiar voice.

      “Philip?”

      “In the flesh!  It’s good to see you, Father.”

Mycroft was taken in a massive hug by the man he was not fully sure was his son.

      “And Dad, looking handsome as ever.”

It was Lestrade’s turn for a hug, but it didn’t stop him from mouthing ‘who the hell is this?’ to his husband.

      “Philip, is this actually you?”

The blonde figure ran a hand through his very short and gelled hair and laughed a laugh that Mycroft was not certain he would ever hear again.

      “Guess I do look a little different.  And it’s Phil now, Father.  Philip’s just too stuffy, don’t you think?”

      “Philip…Phil… what the hell is on your face?”

      “What?  Oh yeah, like them, Dad?  Got a few piercings to liven things up a bit.  Couple more in other places, but since you two don’t dress me anymore, I doubt you’ll be seeing them.  And don’t worry, I don’t wear them all the time, but this is my holiday, so I thought why not?  Wow… it’s great to see you two.  I know I haven’t visited, but I think about you every day.  I really do and I’ve missed you terribly.”

      “And why have you not visited, Philip?”

      “ _Phil_ , Father… and, well… I’ve been busy.  Doing a bit of this and that.  Me and a couple of other blokes are thinking about putting together an acting troupe, so we’ve been doing a lot of talking about that and scripting out some ideas.”

      “Acting?”

Lestrade hoped his complete disbelief wasn’t as obvious in his voice as he thought it sounded.

      “Yeah!  I love it!  Don’t worry, I haven’t dropped out to jump on the stage, but… I’ve done a couple of plays and had a few call-backs for commercials.  It’s a brilliant time and I think I’m pretty good, if I do say so myself.”  

      “We send you away for an education and you, instead, are considering an acting career?  A… blonde acting career?”

      “Don’t be such a stiff, Father.  I promise to get my degree before I make any formal decisions.  But, hey, we’ve got plenty of time to talk about that.  I can’t wait to get home!  I promise, too, that it won’t be so long before I visit again.  Actually, Dad, I was thinking that maybe you could get me that bike you talked about so I could come and go as I pleased.”

Lestrade blinked the confusion out of his eyes and looked to Mycroft for insight, who failed to provide any.

      “Bike?”

      “Yeah!  When I was ten, you told me you’d get me a motorcycle when I got older and, well… I was thinking it’d be a good idea now.  Give me some transportation and the gents _do_ like a man on a motorcycle, don’t they?

Mycroft felt something inside of him break.  His little boy… _his_ little boy, was changing.   It had taken a very, very long time, but he wasn’t a perfect carbon copy anymore and that… that would take some getting used to.  However…

      “Uh… sure.  We can talk about that, too.  And gents, huh?  Any in particular we should know about?”

      “No one special yet, but I’ve got my eye on this one in my political science class.  You still have your special lager at home?”

      “Just topped off the supply yesterday, as a matter of fact.”

      “Then how about we grab one and I’ll catch you two up.  Wow!  I can’t believe I’m finally back… and really… I’m not planning on leaving you two alone again like that.”

      “Especially if I get you that bike you want.”

      “Well, yeah… I’m not stupid, Dad.”

…however… perhaps it was someone else’s turn to have a doppelganger.  Yes… let Gregory have the next nineteen years… he was more than content to sit back and enjoy watching the fun.

**Author's Note:**

> The adult version of Philip Lestrade-Holmes probably rings a bell to those who know Mark Gatiss's work with The League of Gentlemen... let's hope our little boy has more success with his career than Phil Proctor does ;-)


End file.
